Page 71 of Inflame Me
“I’m putting my fucking rag on you, too, so no one mistakes it.”
Excitement like no other spikes through me as the sounds of his zipper and rustle of his jeans dropping echo over our heavy pants.
He lifts my leg, bending it at the knee as the blunt tip of his erection nudges my opening. Without mercy, he slams into me, and I cry out from the invasion, but the burn turns to pleasure in a flash.
I find it hard to breathe as I try to clutch the door, finding nothing but a flat surface. He presses me harder against it. He must have sensed I was slipping as he continues his thrusts.
This isn’t sweet or caring. No, this is hot, hard, and carnal. And I love it.
The pressure burns inside me as his length awakens every nerve, sending me soaring in no time. I scream his name and suck in deep breaths as he continues until he finds his release with a large grunt.
I sag against the door, his arm dropping my leg and wrapping around me to support me. If it weren’t there, I would for sure fall into a tumble on the ground.
He stays inside of me while we catch our breath, the hot tickle of his breath coming through my shirt at my back. Damn, that was hot.
WHY DID I think Flash would just pack her shit and leave again? I knew better. I also knew better than to call her ass over the phone and break shit off. I’ve been with the woman so long I should have done it face to face, but in the moment, all I could think about was taking Mearna home to my house that I bought. In other words, I was leading with my dick and not my fucking head. Stupid, but I did this shit to myself.
I walk through what was my very well-put-together home, especially since Flash kept shit picked up and took good care of it. Now the once kickass living room is torn to shreds, and I mean that literally. The bitch took a fucking knife to my brown leather couches and chairs. It looks like a hammer or sledgehammer, for that matter, went to work on my coffee tables and my fucking flat screen. Particles of wood and glass litter the hardwood floors.
I bend down and touch my finger to a gash in the floor. The bitch took a knife to that, too. Fucking hell.
I enter the kitchen and realize I should have fucking stopped and gone back to the clubhouse. It would have been a better choice. Instead, I stare at every single dish, cup, appliance, utensil, and whatever else is in a kitchen that has been thrown or smashed around the space. A frying pan sits on top of the once glass stove; now it’s just shattered pieces. The door to the microwave is off its hinges, too.
This bitch is pissed. Then again, at this moment, so the fuck am I.
I walk quickly through the rest of the house, noting the bitch fucking touched every single room of the house. There is nothing I can even remotely keep. My clothes are tattered pieces of fabric. Anything she could break, she did. There’s nothing left.
As the anger bubbles inside of me, I pick up the already destroyed dresser and throw it across the room, only shattering the wood some more. It doesn’t help the anger, so I find whatever is at my feet and fling it against the walls. Over and over, I continue to do this until the rage begins to settle, and I catch my breath.
My bikes!
I race out to the garage and throw open the door. Each one of my three bikes is tipped over and smashed. I don’t enter the room. I can’t. The anger is too much, and I need to get the fuck out of here now.
I don’t bother locking the place up; there’s nothing for anyone to steal.
I hop on my bike and ride. I try to clear my thoughts, but this time, the ride doesn’t help. The fury trembling through me is too much, way too fucking much. I want to kill the bitch. Iwillkill the bitch.
Winding down the road, I head toward the clubhouse, which is now one of the only things I own that isn’t torn or broken.
My heart constricts painfully as a stinging comes through both arms. I can’t breathe. I can’t get oxygen into my lungs. What the fuck is happening?
My vision blurs as I pull the clutch and release the throttle, shifting down. Suddenly, blackness invades me, which is a good thing when my bike smashes to the pavement.
“MOM!” TANNER RUSHES into the apartment, tears lining her face, which instantly puts me on high mom alert.
“What?”
“It’s … Cam.” She sniffles and shakes her head, sucking in a deep breath. I see the moment her spine stiffens, and all the strength that belongs to my Tanner comes into place. “It’s Dagger. He’s in the hospital. It’s bad. We need to go.”
Tanner races around the room as I sit there, momentarily in shock. She slips on my shoes and pulls me to my feet just as I snap back to reality.
“What happened?” I ask as she pushes me out the door, holding her purse and mine.
“Car,” she orders, putting me in and strapping me like I’m a child, which maybe I am in this moment because I feel a bit lost.
Tanner throws the car into gear, and I hang on to the door for support.
“Talk, Tanner,” I tell her curtly.
